


Red Cake, Blue Cake

by Davechicken



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crack, M/M, Matrix AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:00:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23056642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: In which the Chosen One is... Ezra Fell.Sorry, Humanity.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 74





	Red Cake, Blue Cake

He’s the Chosen One, they said. He’s the one who will save everyone with his wonderful ability to look through the Matrix and save all of Humanity.

Crowley had no idea how he could be the Chosen One if he only ever used his sodding, out of date paperweight of a machine to file his taxes. He was pretty sure Ezra Fell’s computer didn’t even have a modem _port_ , let alone access to broadband. 

Still. He persevered. He tried his damndest. He inserted lines of text between the (seriously who filed such detailed records and didn’t cook the books at least a little) rows of utterly boring tax information.

But any time he tried to communicate, the bastard would go ‘Oh, dearie me,’ and turn it off for a few days.

>>> WOULD YOU STOP SWITCHING ME OFF???

Boom.

>>>SERIOUSLY ALL I SAID WAS HELLO.

Boom.

>>>I AM TRYING TO SAVE THE W

Boom.

There was no way of communicating through such bone-headedness.

So he turned up in person.

***

“You’re the Chosen One.”

“I didn’t enter any raffle,” Ezra replied, smiling distantly.

“No, it’s - look. I’ve come here to get you out of the Matrix.”

“The - is that slang for something? I know my shop is in an interesting--”

“I AM TRYING TO SAVE THE BLOODY WORLD WHY ARE YOU SO IMPOSSIBLE?”

Ezra folded his arms and refused to talk to him while he was shouting. Crowley stayed until he was sure the Agents would notice the discomfort of everyone around, and left with his long coat flapping angrily in his wake.

***

Fine. If he was analogue, that was how you did it.

He wrote messages in awkwardly tight margins of books.

He filled in the Times Crossword before it was delivered, writing messages in the boxes.

He put an advert in the personals.

Over and over.

And when none of that worked, he managed to forge an interesting book of prophecy and let it be sold to him and thought if that didn’t do it, then Humanity didn’t deserve to be saved, because its saviour was so stupid as to need a thorough smack around the head with a clue by four billion.

But eventually…

***

“How did you do it?”

“By editing the base code of--”

“No, I mean how did you make the book so convincing? I cannot trace any forgery, and yet it quite clearly has a page telling me to - well - it’s a bit vulgar and offensive, but it tells me to come here and trust you.”

Yes, moron, it does. Crowley counted to ten. And again. And…

“You are in a simulation. You’re - ugh - you’re stuck in a computer.”

“Oh, my dear boy, I am n--”

“Like - like Alice falling through into Wonderland, or… or… being stuck in Narnia, or… or, uh, Ulysses or something. You just - you’re not in the real world and you need to wake up and come home and leave Oz or whatever.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Look, I have two pills. Red, blue.”

“I’m terribly sorry, I do not take any form of drugs.”

He - he - 

Crowley closed his palms. Walked out of the room. Then walked back in.

“I have two cupcakes. One you eat and you forget everything, and fuck everyone over, but hey, at least you had a cake. The other, you wake up and--”

“I’ll have both.”

“Wh-- no! You can’t! You bloody moron, you’d GO INSANE!”

“How can I be the Chosen One if you think I can’t have both?”

“It’s a METAPHOR. It’s - DO YOU WANT TO SAVE EVERYONE OR NOT?”

“I told you before I won’t engage with you whilst you’re shouting at me.”

Consent was important. It was true. But Crowley was also pissed off and tired and the moron might be hot but he was a moron and there was only so much beefcake was worth putting up with idiocy. So he shoved the pink muffin into the bookshop owner’s mouth, and decided that the ends justified the means.

Plus. Agent Gabriel was a real prick and he had no desire to look at that smug face ever again.

***

Hot Moron was not so happy about waking up goopy and naked. Crowley was not happy when Hot Moron utterly failed to appreciate the life saving. 

Also, he did not rock bald. 

Meh.

***

“I’m going to show you how to fight in the-- what are you wearing?”

“My clothes.”

“You have the power to control the very world around you, and you _still dress like that_?”

Crowley snapped his fingers. Ezra was now in tight leather trousers, black shades, and a c---

“WHY DID YOU TAKE THEM OFF AGAIN?” Crowley wailed. “You looked hot!”

“They were terribly uncomfortable and not at all flexible. I don’t see why I have to dress like a prostitute to save the world.”

“A WHAT?”

“Well, it is rather… gauche, and you’d look much nicer in a tailored suit.”

Crowley looked down. It was brown and pinstripe. This was too much.

“I am going to kill you.”

***

It turned out that it was better to deal with Hot Moron Tension by just… going with the flow. Several battles over clothes led to no clothes led to rather ingenious and satisfying sexual acrobatics led to Crowley lying shagged out on a couch and wondering if they really did need to save the world, or if Agent Gabriel would agree to a cease fire if he and Ezra just stayed away from awakening the masses and continued to do that weird thing with time and the belt and the armchair.

Ezra sat, looking smug, and stirring his cocoa with a rather nice spoon. He lifted it, and looked into the distorted image.

Crowley gave up.

“You know what,” he said, rolling over and wincing at how good, yet sore, he felt. “Maybe we should just put that down and get more cake.”

“What colour, my dear?”

“I don’t sodding care. Just get the cake and do that thing with the whipped cream again.”

“And the world?”

“Screw the world. I hate stupid gruel and porridge. Show me that thing with your fingers again.”

Yeah. Hot Moron had the right idea. He’d unplug every damn computer in the whole of Soho, if it meant he could carry on being buggered senseless like that.

“Ask nicely,” Ezra chided.

Crowley pushed his face into the couch and whined. 

Apparently that was good enough. Or good enough to get a spank on the arse, and then they were off again. At least they didn't need to wait for the normal amount of time. Being the sex-toy of the Chosen One had multiple advantages, it seemed.


End file.
